Reno- What Makes a Man: Hate
by SilkenNightmare
Summary: Young Reno, (needless to say, its a past fic) um, mentions of abuse and violence. Rather dark.


Disclaimer: I don't own Reno, although I gotta say, I would really like to *eg*  
AN: Reno's growing up series. His will come in much slower than the Rufus ones because I find Reno MUCH harder to write. Review it if you like it, 'cause if I drop either series it'll be this one.  
  
  
  
  


Reno- What Makes a Man: Hate  
  
  
  
  
_"And he carries the reminders of every glove that laid him down, or cut him…"_-Paul Simon, Art Garfunkle, The Boxer

  
  
  


He shivered in the darkness. Frostbitten hands holding his mother close. Tears had dried in bloody tracks down his face.   
  
"Its gonna be okay, Mom, I promise." He smiled painfully.   
  
She turned away from him.  
  
"No, no, Mom, its alright. We're fine." He smiled again, "we're better than fine, we're free!" He pulled her close, on to his lap, it was easy for him despite his young age, she was very light. "C'mon," he said, leaning his head against her dark red hair, "c'mon…"  
  
The woman took a deep breath, and shifted in her son's grip. "Reno, Reno-baby. Are you all right?" She tried to look up into his face.  
  
"I'm fine, Mom," he said, hoping she wouldn't notice the blood on his face.  
  
"Good, good," She sighed, and relaxed a bit, gasping slightly at the pain it caused.  
  
Reno looked at her face worriedly, "What about you, Mom? Are you hurt real bad?" He leaned forward and turned to peer at her closely, he noticed slowly coloring bruises on her face, but little else.  
  
His glowing green eyes met her blue ones. "I'm a little beat up," she said softly, gauging his reaction, he regarded her steadily. "I don't think I can walk. Go get help, baby. Please."   
  
He looked at her doubtfully, lips thinning in worry. No one would help them out here, she should know that. "Mom?"   
  
She sighed, "Try, Reno, please."   
  
"O-Okay. I- I'll be right back." He stood, both suspicion and worry in his eyes now. Still, he turned to leave the ally. After all, she did have a point; they had to get somewhere safe. They had only made it four blocks from home when she collapsed. Reno wouldn't count them safe till they were out of Sector 7 entirely and somewhere warm.  
  
"Reno," his mother called, breaking through his thoughts, "I love you, baby."  
  
He looked back at her, her beautiful face was off-color and tired. "I love you too, Mom." And he was off, calling out for help.   
  
He got no response, of course, in the slums you took care of yourself, and nobody else. Still, he called and screamed into the night for an hour and a half before returning to his mother, frightened and beaten. What would they do?   
  
"I couldn't find anyone, Mom." He said, eyes downcast. "I'm so sorr-" he glanced up, at once taking in her still body, the absence of warmth, and the feeling, the scent, of the air, like the abyss. "Mom!?" He cried, not needing to ask, he knew, he felt it, breathed it, tasted it-cold death. He dropped to his knees beside her and ran his hands over her shoulders, through her hair, feeling the dried blood that had been hidden from him before by the darkness. The rough movements tore open his barely closed wounds. The marks his father had put on him, a thick cut down his right cheek, where the man's fist had split the skin over bone, the bloodshot left eye. The large A, a brand, carved into his upper arm, the cigarette burns. Blood flowed down his cheeks like dark tears. And he cried. For the first time he could remember, he cried.  
  
Dawn woke him. The filthy light crept into the slums and onto his closed eyes. He pulled himself up, tears still slipping down his cheeks. Blood covered his face and hands like mask and gloves, he wondered how much was his. He stood, and again faced the sight of his mother. She lay peacefully.  
  
She's more beautiful now, he thought, sick with disgust and hate, than I've ever seen her before, its not fair, its not fair! You shouldn't have to die to be happy!   
  
A low moan escaped him, and he clamped his eyes shut. When he opened them again, and looked closely at the body before him, etching the picture into his brain. I will remember, he thought, I will remember this, that he- he tortured her till death was the only happiness left her, the only safety.  
  
He clenched his fists and teeth tight, and when I see him, when I see him I will make sure he feels this, that he feels the pain he caused us. And- and that he knows what he took away from me.   
  
He shut his eyes, the tears that had been forming in them slid down his face in a pink trickle.   
  
The street was right, he decided, he would take care of himself, and anyone who crossed him would pay with blood… But his father first.   
  
Then he turned and walked away.  
  
  
  



End file.
